For Comeuppance, For Companionship
by Wateronthebrain
Summary: After the war, Severus is left to precariously balance self preservation and pride. This unwillingly leads him and his godson to the home of one Harry James Potter.
1. Debris

Severus Snape stood in the ornate office, unsure of how to proceed. Only twenty-four hours ago, he was inhaling his own blood in the Shrieking Shack. He was overwhelmed with the anxiety and strange comfort that came with his surely impending death.

Granger, for reasons totally unbeknownst to him, took pity and saved his life. He had no idea why she was equipped with bandages and a venom antidote, but he was thankful nonetheless. She left him, he fell unconscious, and when he awoke he was on his back in the Great Hall. In an uncomfortable rush of information, he learned that Potter defeated Voldemort, and he himself had been granted a full pardon.

By Harry Bloody Potter's word, of course. Just what he needed, another debt to that name.

Draco Malfoy was in a similar situation. In some way, Narcissa spared Potter's life. He tried to grant her a pardon, but she wouldn't accept it unless Draco was included. He'd never been marked, and careful inspection of his wand proved that he hadn't killed. Both mother and son sat at Severus's side, three lost Slytherins in a sea of painfully emotional Gryffindors.

With his pardon, Severus was still technically Headmaster of Hogwarts. He intended passing the title onto Minerva as soon as possible, but the process was stalled by the aftermath of the battle. School wouldn't resume until the next year, anyway. He had months in which to complete the paperwork.

This stall allowed for a particular bonus – Severus was able to take refuge in the Headmaster's office. Quite a few of Hogwarts' most ancient wards intersected at this point, making the room impermeable to battle damage. The recent stress that the wards endured made their magic pulse with power, thereby affecting the magic of the witches and wizards in the room. The ramifications of this effect were mainly emotional, but Severus somehow didn't mind. No one would see him in here. No one could enter without his permission. He was happy to sacrifice his composure in exchange for some much-needed solitude.

However, the longer he sat in the plush chair, the more he considered that this might have been a bad idea. It had been hellacious to occupy this office. He could never truly call it his. It belonged to one Albus Dumbledore, or appropriately Minerva McGonagall after his death. The Potions Professor never should have laid claim to it. The room always tore at the bottom of his stomach (a similar sensation to the moment one's realized they've fallen off of a broom); the epicenter of the wards amplified the feeling. Embarrassed, though alone, Severus succumbed to tears. The relief that the war was over, the loss of Lily, the loss of his mentor, the physical pain where Nagini attacked, the mortification that he owed his life to a couple of foolhardy Gryffindors; it all crashed through him like a storm. He couldn't remember the last time he'd so thoroughly let himself go. Perhaps when he found Lilly's body, but in his fragile state he couldn't allow himself to dwell on that particular memory.

He was so lost in his mind that he didn't hear the voice until it had been calling for quite some time. "Severus? Severus, my dear boy."

He pulled from his reverie with a great jerk, searching for the source. Most portraits were politely regarding one another (sneaking glances at the man), but one addressed him directly. Severus chastised himself for not recognizing that voice instantly. "Yes, Albus?"

"Rumor has it we've succeeded."

"Indeed." Severus sighed.

"And our boy survives?" Albus was hopeful.

"_Your _boy. Yes, Potter is alive." He rolled his eyes at an infuriating smile that the portrait gave him.

"I hope both of my boys will finally get some peace." Albus reasoned. "You've returned to your office? I hope you plan to stay with Hogwarts."

"If I do, it will be in my laboratory. This has always been your office, Albus. Soon it will be Minerva's. I have no business running this school." He insisted.

"That's a shame. I'm certain that under… I think, brighter conditions, you'd have made a legendary Headmaster. Not to doubt dear Minerva, of course. She'll earn a place in history books, as well." There was a slight pause. "I'm very glad to hear she wasn't a casualty. Have we suffered many?"

Severus braced himself. He wouldn't let them see him cry again, even if they were only imitations of the deceased. "No, not many, just over fifty. Nothing compared to how we handled them. Molly Weasley disposed of Bellatrix Lestrange."

Albus looked fierce with pride. "The strength of that woman –"

Severus had to interrupt. "After Rookwood killed Fred Weasley."

The mood became very grave, very quickly. "Fred, you say?"

Severus nodded.

"Too young. Much too young." There was a long silence before the former Headmaster spoke again. "Tell me, who else?"

"Colin Creevey. Lavender Brown. Septima Vector. Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks are both in the hospital wing. Madame Pomfrey's prognosis for the two is a state similar to Frank and Alice Longbottom." The words nearly slid from his mouth. In his exhaustion, Severus lost his will to craft or care for his sentences.

Albus' eyes were lightly closed, tired. "Their son?"

"Safe, at home with his grandmother."

"See to it, in the years to come, he looks to Neville as a mentor." The elder allowed himself a hint of a smile. "I see I'm still doling out orders to you. You are, of course, free to act as you wish. Your duty to the Order and myself has been well beyond fulfilled."

Severus didn't know how to feel about this. A good part of him wanted to head for the hills with that permission – to flee and never see Hogwarts again. Never walk this ruin. Stop reliving the memories. He ached for relief from the memories. However, a stronger part contemplated sharing with Albus what he'd been feeling most recently. It came to him that he wasn't only working on an aged promise. As the war waged on, he felt like less of a pawn and more of a soldier. He found himself believing in the Order's cause.

It was a troubling subject, so he stayed safely silent.

"I'm proud of you, Severus." Albus spoke softly. Severus realized that his concentration had probably – albeit correctly – been mistaken for emotional frailty.

He looked up, quite slowly. "I'm only saying this once, Albus. Listen: I miss you."

Quite unexpectedly, a tear ran down the portrait's face. "I miss you, my boy. Know that. I'm still with you, Severus."

The younger man had to choke back a sob. He gave a curt nod. "Well, then… yes. I'll be excusing myself, now –"

Albus stopped him. "There is a matter I need to discuss with you. Do you have a moment?"

Severus looked up again.

"I trust the castle is in a degree of ruin?"

He sighed. "That would be an understatement. To renew the wards, rebuild, and clean should keep a good portion of us busy until September first. I suspect areas of the castle may still be in progress, even then."

"And where do you plan on staying, during this?" There was something less than mischief, but more than curiosity in the old man's voice. It worried Severus.

"My dungeons will be seen to as soon as possible. I'll make sure of it." Severus reasoned.

"You're smarter than that, Severus. With weak wards, directly after a war, is that truly a safe choice?" Albus chided.

"I've delt with dangerous choices, Albus, as I'm sure you recall."

"I hope you realize how truly Gryffindor you sound."

Severus felt a bit of vomit rise in the back of his throat. "What suggestion do you have? My home at Spinner's End has even less to protect me from rouge Death Eaters. I'm not trying to be _brave_," he spit the word like a taste of sour milk, "I'm being realistic."

"There is one place still protected, possibly more heavily that Hogwarts at this point. I'm confident that the owner would take you in, for as long as you need."

"I'm not comfortable staying with your brother, Albus." Severus rejected.

"He fought?" Albus asked, veering from the topic for a moment.

"Not only. He took in Potter, Weasley, and Granger when they were foolishly walking the streets of Hogsmede. He's also been feeding your little student army."

"I have quite a but of unfinished business with my brother, one of my strongest regrets. I hope that you will sometime soon ask him to pay me a visit?"

"Of course." Severus agreed.

Albus took a moment to regain himself. "I didn't mean Aberforth, in terms of your housing. I suggest you confer with the owner of 12, Grimmauld Place."

Severus found himself bearing the incredible urge to laugh. "You want me to live with Potter? This is surely not an fitting time to joke."

"Then you should be all the more aware that I'm not, in fact, kidding. You have nowhere to stay. Harry has a large, safe house. It is less than ideal, but I'm not requesting a friendship, or even kindness. Civility would do. It's only a roof for the summer. Think about it." Albus was somewhat insistent.

"I'll see." Severus didn't even attempt to hide the implication that he would not inquire. "I've been holed in here for too long. I'm sure suspicions are already being raised about me. I've got to go, Albus, but I'll be back soon."

Albus gave a soft smile as the Potions Master left the office.

Severus took the hall at such a fast pace that he nearly trampled a boy waiting outside his office. The two made eye contact, and Severus cursed what he was sure was Albus' otherworldly interference – he collided with one Harry James Potter.

"Potter. Inconveniently under my feet, as always."

"Professor. Always a pleasure."

Severus rolled his eyes and continued.

"Wait! I was hoping to have a word." Potter called.

Severus didn't do him the honor of turning around, but he did reply. "Yes?"

The boy caught up. "When you have a moment, I'd like to speak with you."

"Ah, but one of the many benefits of this war coming to a close was that I'd never have to interact with you again. Don't tell me you aren't just as eager." Severus said, maintaining his quick pace.

"There are quite a few things you owe me an explanation for, and I've got things to say, as well." Potter explained.

This stopped Severus short. "I don't believe I owe you anything."

The boy sighed. "That didn't come out right. Just… things I'd really like to know. If you have any time at all."

"Look around you. The castle is in pieces. Just because you've done away with Voldemort doesn't mean the world is to your beck and call." Severus chided.

"I never said that!" Potter insisted. "Would you stop with the threats and insults for ten seconds? I'm asking for a simple conversation."

"Unfortunately, I won't have the time." Severus resumed walking.

"I could speak with you while you work?" Potter offered.

"Highly unrealistic. Do you not have any more autographs to sign?" Severus taunted.

"I finished those a while ago. I don't have yours on me, unfortunately." Harry said with a smirk.

Severus raised an eyebrow. "Ten po-"

"I'm not a student." Harry reminded.

"Do you really think infuriating me further is a good tactic?" questioned Severus. He took advantage of the boy's faltering to gain a few strides in distance.

"I told Hermione to turn back, you know." Harry offered.

"So it was your fault I was spared the mercy of death? I'll be sending out the thank-you note shortly."

"Don't pretend you're suicidal."

"Don't pretend you care."

"I'm not."

"Then stop speaking to me."

"I can't."

"Potter, I swear –"

"Fine!" Potter nearly yelled, causing Severus to stop again. "You want to know what this is about? If the boy-who-lived were to grovel at your feet and beg, would it please you enough to grant him a short audience? I'll do it, you know. I'll beg." He had a fierce determination in his eyes that Severus hadn't before seen. It didn't reflect on the older man's face, but it was disconcerting, to say the least. "You knew my mum before Hogwarts, and you were good friends, from what I can tell. Everything I know about her is from Remus, Sirius, or Dumbledore – as a mate's girlfriend, or as a student. I know the facts, but I don't know her. To be honest, it kills me that you do. She was _my_ mum, after all. From what I saw in the pensive, I gather that you cared about her. For Lily's sake then? I don't want your memories, just… what she was like. Please."

Severus pinched the bridge of his long nose. Another day he might have hexed the brat and left. His time with Lily was special, and he had no intention of sharing it with James Potter's carbon copy. However, the last thing Potter said struck a chord. Lily would be appalled to know he denied the boy a small discussion. In fact, if he could concentrate just a bit harder, he could faintly hear her voice in his head, urging him on. He spoke before he could change his mind. "It would be prudent to conduct this conversation – that _you_ insist on having – in a more private setting."

The way Potter's eyes lit up was nearly revolting. "Thank you, sir!"

"I'll expect you in the Headmaster's office this evening, nine o'clock. By then those who are actually working, not tracking down former professors in empty halls, should be finished for the day. There will be no discussion if you are late." Severus warned.

"Of course." Potter nodded, fervent. "Thank you, again!" The boy headed in the opposite direction.

Severus spoke under his breath. He couldn't do without correcting Potter's mistake. "Care about her, not cared."

The younger heard the mumble and turned. "Sorry?"

Severus offered no reply. He persisted down the shattered hall, robes billowing above the rubble.


	2. Endurance

Harry explored the castle while he had the chance, scouting for areas that might be particularly problematic during the rebuilding process. He was happy to see less and less damage as he went on. The only real issue that came to light was the exterior of Gryffindor tower. The Fat Lady was moaning about the trauma she'd suffered, but Harry didn't see so much as a nick in the painting. There were deep pits in the walls, however, and long scorch marks on the floor. He could only imagine how aggressively his housemates had fought to protect their territory.

The pride quickly turned to pain as he remembered how many of their own were gone. Fred, Colin, Lavender, nearly Remus. "Stupid Gryffindors." He muttered, almost reminiscent of Snape. Harry doubted there would be such wreckage before the entrance to the Slytherin common room, even if they had been targeted like the Gryffindors. He was inexplicably jealous of the green and silver house. If he was a bit colder, more cunning and with less feeling, perhaps this wouldn't hurt so badly.

The halls were taking him to a dark place, as he became quickly aware. No more dwelling. There would be plenty of time for that in the upcoming funerals. Harry moved in a hurry, letting his subconscious guide him directly to the Great Hall. He spotted Hermione, forlorn and alone on a half busted bench.

"I thought you were at The Burrow." Harry commented, sitting beside his friend.

She looked at him, uncomfortably tearless. It was the face of someone worn and bruised by too much crying. "I had to leave. Allow them to have some time alone as a family, you know?" She rested her head on his shoulder. "Harry, it's awful there. If they'd been more somber in the past… I don't know. It's so unnerving to see grief in the Weasley family."

Harry wrapped an arm around his best friend. "They aren't doing well?"

She sighed. "As well as anyone could imagine. Molly's busying herself with whatever she can, and Arthur's helping her out. George hasn't spoken, I don't think." She took a sharp breath in recollection. "He's the worst, as is expected. When he does make noise, it's this awful mix between a sob and a groan. Bill and Charlie have been keeping him company… making sure he doesn't do anything stupid. Percy's mad as hell: it's frightening to be in the same room as him."

"What about Ron?" Harry prompted. "And Ginny?"

"Ron's being incredible moody. One minute he wants to talk about Fred, the next he's dead silent and unresponsive. Five minutes after he's forcing me out the door, then pulling me back in and making me promise not to go."

"He doesn't mean it."

"Of course. I know. In the scope of things, he's being remarkably mature. Ginny's been… it might be nice if you stop by soon, Harry. I know we'd like to give them space, but Ginny could really use a shoulder right now." Hermione encouraged.

"She worries me, sometimes." Harry commented.

"She's strong."

"She's strong." He repeated. "I'm staying at the burrow tonight. I'll try to talk with her, if she's up to it. Will you be there?"

"I will. I'm bringing them dinner, from Professor McGonagall. Would you like to floo over with me then?"

"I can't. I have a meeting this evening. I'll floo in as soon as it's over."

"A meeting?" Hermione was suspicious. "The ministry?"

"No, Snape." Harry admitted.

"Just you two? That's… oh, Harry." She moved between tones of warning and pity.

"'Mione, I'm the boy-who-lived. He'd have a lot of explaining to do if I ended up pickled in his office." Harry tried at a joke.

Hermione groaned. "Hush."

"Too soon to joke about my death, ey?" He teased again.

She gave him a disapproving look, but grabbed his hand in her own. "You can't know what it felt like. Harry, it – we'll talk about it later, I suppose."

He searched for something to pull from the sudden pain that dropped over them. "He knows it was you. I mean, it doesn't matter much, but thought you should know."

"Has he said anything?" She wasn't particularly taken aback.

"Not a word of thanks, or otherwise." He confirmed.

She nodded. "Glad he hasn't changed a bit."

Harry sighed, but gave no other reply. He only dropped his head on her shoulder, and the two surveyed the broken mess. It was a place of stinging tragedy; still, something managed to stir in the bottom of his stomach. It was the sort of comfort that came with returning home after quite a long time.

Severus paced the office; glad that no one could see him. His behavior mirrored Albus' in an uncanny way. Potter would be up in one hour, therefore he had one hour to prepare for this farce of a conversation. It was completely ridiculous, and he had no idea why he'd agreed to it.

No, of course he knew why, he just couldn't believe how easily his emotions were manipulated by the Brat-Who-Lived. It had to be the magic in the office, he reasoned. It was playing at him in a way that little was able to. He groaned upon realizing that this vulnerable setting was where their meeting would take place. He'd occlude and Potter would be none the wiser, but it was still a headache he wasn't willing to deal with.

Just then, his fireplace burned green. Severus was immediately on edge, though he relaxed when the pale boy stepped through. He chided himself for the rash reaction - no one but his godson would be able to floo directly in. This room was killing him.

For perhaps the first time, Draco didn't bother brushing the ash off of his cloak and shoes. His usual proud demeanor had been replaced by one of utter exhaustion. It was a state few had seen the boy in, certainly no one other than his parents and godfather.

"Severus, do you have a moment?" Despite the pretense of a question, Draco sat. He was rarely turned away.

Severus took his seat at the Headmaster's chair. "Draco."

The boy shifted, unusually uncomfortable.

"What is it?"

"You're not dead, then." He looked up from under his pale hair.

"A brilliant observation. Almost at the standards of a Gryffindor, I daresay."

A small smirk crossed Draco's face. "Glad you're still here. In the office, I mean, I wouldn't know where to find you." He added, as an after thought, "Glad you're not dead, too."

"We both, it seems, have defied incredible odds by walking from this war with our lives. Both by the doing of Potter, as I'm sure you're well aware." As usual, Severus allowed his tone to carry much more weight than his words.

Draco finally made eye contact. "I'm not interested in Potter anymore."

"I don't believe that." Severus rebuked.

"It's an old schoolboy rivalry, isn't it? We got on awfully enough as students, but I won't carry that with me into the rest of my life. It's…. _uncouth._" Draco nearly regained his smug disposition.

I know you. You aren't burying the hatchet." Severus tested.

The blonde sighed, dropping his voice. "I've got a life debt to him, now."

"I've one to him, and Miss Granger."

Draco shuddered at the thought. "Then you understand. If I – well, you know, if we avoid them, then it should be as if we don't have the life debts at all. Distance will make them irrelevant, right?

Severus nearly rolled his eyes. "That won't be too difficult for you. I assume you've set up in the French summer home?"

Draco suddenly avoided his gaze. "Mother has."

"What of yourself? Your father?" Severus was confused, but he didn't allow it to leak into his voice.

The boy was shifting, clearly uncomfortable.

"What are you not telling me?" Severus pressed.

"Father's been tired. I thought it was natural, with Volde- you-know-who parading him all over England for the past year or so. Yesterday night, after Potter, he suddenly became even weaker." Draco took a breath. "I thought it was since the worst of it was over, you know? Like he could finally rest."

Draco paused. His own words had a profound effect on him, and he cast his eyes low before continuing. "I realized something wasn't right when we were in the Great Hall. Father began to mumble and touch my face, like when I was a child. He was going on about how proud he was of me. Mother called a house elf, and it apparated us to the house in France. We got him to a bed and then-" Draco critically inspected the floor below him. "Mother told me I should tell Father that I love him, and go to you. She said goodbye to me, and that I shouldn't return until she let me know. She said it might not be for a good while."

Severus didn't need to ask anything. Unsurprisingly, the Dark Lord had lost trust in Lucius Malfoy near the end. He placed a curse on him that, should the man betray his master, emotional, mental, and physical deterioration would come quickly. When the Malfoy family gave up the fight, the curse took hold. There was little, if not nothing to be done for the man. From Draco's description, Severus wouldn't be surprised if he had already passed.

Out of the silence, the boy spoke again. "I have no where else to go. The Manor is ruined, and Aunt Bellatrix was staying in the Austria cottage for a few months, so I'm not sure it's safe. What do you think I should…?"

"Shall I spare us the game? Of course, you will stay with me." Severus informed, rather than offered.

"Thank you."

Severus was at a loss, in terms of consolation. He'd was much closer to Narcissa and Draco than Lucius; the loss was bearable, compared to others. However, he had no idea how his godson would handle this. Recently, there had been quite a bit of bad blood between father and son. Draco returned from holiday breaks looking more like Potter than a Malfoy – too thin, fading bruises that were revealed if he wasn't careful.

Draco must've been thinking similarly. "Strange, wasn't it? Father and I weren't on speaking terms, then he – it was a curse, wasn't it?"

Severus nodded. "In protecting you, Lucius forfeited duties to Voldemort. At his betrayal, a curse took effect."

Draco was suddenly worried. "He didn't curse my mum, did he?"

"Narcissa was never marked. Her decisions were of less consequence. So long as she was healthy when you left, your mother should be fine." Severus explained.

"Good." Draco breathed. "Are you staying?"

"At Hogwarts? I'm stepping down as Headmaster as soon as Professor McGonagall is able to take my place. However, I believe Professor Slughorn would appreciate the solace of returning to retirement. Should he do so, I'll assume my usual position as Potions Master." Severus couldn't wait to return to his dungeons.

"I've still got my room, then? In your quarters?" Draco asked.

The implication broke the older man's train of thought. He could stay at Hogwarts, of course. Potter had waxed poetic on his heroism, according to the portraits, so he had nothing to fear from the side of the light. The remaining Death Eaters would be caught if they were stupid, and went into hiding if they were smart. Draco, on the other hand, could be a prime target. He was marked, and his relationship with Potter was widely known. Few would hesitate to teach him a lesson, or worse. Hogwarts wasn't safe for Draco Malfoy.

"Yes, you have your room in my quarters. We won't be staying at Hogwarts, however."

Confusion etched itself onto Draco's face. "Spinner's End?"

Severus shook his head. "I have other plans. You'll be safe, and you'll have a roof over your head. Does anything else matter?"

Draco caught his bottom lip in his teeth. He looked much more like the seven year old child, upset that his godfather didn't allow ice cream for a snack, then a seventeen year old who'd just lost nearly everything. "Yes, sir."

Severus placed a hand on Draco's shoulder. It was neither a common gesture from the man, nor unprecedented. "I'll walk you to the dungeons. Pack and shrink your things for transportation. I'll be making the arrangements for our relocation while you do so. If you finish before I return, begin packing the library. You are not to leave, for any reason, without me – am I clear?"

His godson nodded. Severus removed his hand, and the two carefully made their way towards the hollow, chilly inner workings of the school.


	3. Conference

Harry stood before the office, confused and a bit more than frustrated. He tried at least seven types of candies before realizing that _of course_ Snape wouldn't set such a password – that was characteristic of Dumbledore, not his office. He stumbled through anything and everything that came to mind, but the gargoyle didn't budge.

This was Snape's plan, Harry rationalized. The bat got him off of his case in the hallway earlier, but he had no intention of actually speaking to him. What an absolute git!

He considered busting the statue with his wand, but it would only be a petty act of revenge. That sort of damage wouldn't actually allow him entry to the office, and it would probably encourage the Headmaster's bad temper. Perhaps a small portable swamp, or a howler…

Harry was pulled from his musings by the steady creak of the gargoyle shifting. Snape, for some reason, was allowing him entry from inside. He didn't waste time in contemplation, but seized the opportunity and hurried up the stairs.

He expected Snape to be thumbing through papers, perhaps overseeing a potion that brew where Dumbledore's silver instruments used to stand – he was unprepared for the direct, uncomfortable eye contact.

Did this man _ever_ blink?

"Potter." The Headmaster gestured to the chair. "I assumed, with your penchant for rule breaking, you'd by some means be aware of my password. How encouraging, to be proved false."

Harry didn't reply. There was nothing to reply. This was a new degree of Snape; it wasn't friendly, not even cordial, but his voice distinctly lacked its usual poison. This was how he'd address a satisfactory Ravenclaw, not Harry James Potter.

As soon as the thought processed, the man across from him sneered. _Ah, there we have it._ His malice was strangely comforting.

"Sit, Potter."

Harry complied.

"This will be a quick meeting, as it would be impolite for you to disrupt the Weasley household by arriving just as they're readying for sleep." Snape suggested. "And please offer the family – perhaps only Mr. and Mrs. Weasley should stand to hear it – my condolences."

He nodded, though confused. "How did you know I was staying with them?"

"Another assumption on my part. Though a celebrity such as yourself might already have a Diagon Alley flat furnished and waiting." Snape mocked.

"No, sir," Harry sighed, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. "I'll be living with the Weasleys, for the time being."

An uneasy silence fell between them, begging either to break and say _anything._ Harry just couldn't think how to begin:

"So, you were in love with my mum, weren't you?

"Sorry for the whole wanting you dead bit."

"The son of your worst enemy now knows your most intimate secrets. Oops."

No, Harry had nothing. Fortunately, it was the Professor who found his words first. "I noticed you left the memories in the Pensieve."

"Sorry." He shrugged. "I had other things on my mind, at the moment."

The older man nodded. "However, now that our situation is significantly different, you can understand how I do not wish for their contents to become public knowledge?"

"Right." Harry was glad; he'd been provided an opportunity for what he'd been waiting to say. "Of course I won't be telling anyone. Sir, I understand that you probably weren't intending to, er, leave the shrieking shack –"

He was interrupted. "There is a difference between niceties and respect. Do not concern yourself with the former; I don't have the patience for it. Yes, I believed I would die. I also though you would follow shortly, and that what I'd revealed would pass with us."

"You didn't anticipate this at all, then?" He wondered aloud.

"You know, Potter. I disclosed my conversation with Albus." Snape said, as way of an answer.

Harry was suddenly uncomfortable discussing this with the man. "Well, anyway, you've got my word. I won't be telling anybody anything I saw in the Pensieve." He almost stopped there, but decided this man deserved more than a half truth. "People do know some, though."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Could this explain how strangely Minerva and Poppy behaved when I woke?"

He cringed. "Probably. There was something of a back and forth between me and Voldemort before he died. I was explaining things,"

Snape wore a look of judgment that radiated across the table.

"I _know,_ you had to be there, I suppose. He was high and mighty on how he'd mastered the Elder Wand. You don't think I cleared your name in a tidy little conference afterwards, do you? I said you were Dumbledore's man, and that you loved my mum. It was why you were a spy, and essentially why he couldn't win." He explained.

Snape suppressed a groan as his reputation took a fair pounding. "How many were witness to this?"

Harry became fascinated with the carpeting for a moment before answering. "Just those involved in the battle, I suppose."

"How heroic. Just like your father." The qualifier stripped the first statement of any flattery it may have held.

"It wasn't as if I was going to ask him to take a breather, come up to the Gryffindor common room for tea! Sorry they've heard, but I wouldn't be too worried if I were you." He'd tried, but it was just too hard to keep his emotions in check around the man.

"I might as well begin researching large scale memory charms." Snape proposed, half serious.

"I'm sure people will continue to respect your privacy. You don't exactly make yourself welcome or available to inquiry." Harry insisted.

The older brushed it off. "Either way, it is a matter to be dealt with later. You scheduled this meeting because you had something to discuss."

Harry was at a standstill again. "I do, but I'm not sure how to go about it. I figured it take care of everything in one go; talking about the memories, asking about my mum, so I don't have to bother you again."

"A wise choice."

"I don't except you to sit here and tell me stories –"

"A correct presumption."

"Then… could you maybe just tell me what she was like?" He added, hastily, "sir?"

The most peculiar set of expressions fleeted across the Professor's face. At first it was a subtle rising of the chin and downcast of the eyes, but that quickly became a lowered brow and slightly more inclined posture. Most wouldn't have really noticed anything, but years as choice recipient of Snape's acidity made Harry a bit more perceptive to the man's countenance – he was intrigued.

"Potter." The Professor took a large pause, but the boy didn't dare interrupt. The line between strange and normalcy was blurring, quickly. "I believe we are in a position to strike a deal."

"Deal?" Harry asked. "What sort?"

"Where do intend upon residing, after departing the burrow?"

"Sorry?" He grew quiet.

The man across the desk sighed. "I don't believe I mumbled."

"I haven't given it much thought yet. I – there hasn't been time for things like that, in the last day or so. I'm close to the Weasley family, sir, and they said that I'm welcome to stay for as long as I like." He defended.

"Of course. What of next year, then? You're a child with only 6 years of education, no N.E.W.T.s, and a less than stellar discipline record. Any semblance of a career path?" Snape interrogated.

"I have ideas, but –"

"The auror program won't be making exceptions for the boy-who-lived. N.E.W.T.s are essential."

"I don't understand why you're concerned." Harry reciprocated.

"Do not mistake my questions for concern." Snape asserted. "It is simply information that I'll find useful."

"What does this have to do with anything?" He burst out. "Sorry, but weren't we talking about my mum? This deal that you mentioned, and this interview don't seem to be quite on topic."

"Wrong, Potter." The Professor sneered. "They have everything to do with your request. You are aware of the particular… dynamic, between Lily Evans and I, therefore you understand that I feel a hasty conversation such as this would not do her justice. Furthermore, I deduce that your plans for the future are somewhat lacking, to say the absolute least."

"Sorry, but I really don't see where you're going with this." Harry confessed.

"I'm making you an offer, Potter; it would behoove you to be patient and listen."

He opened his mouth to reply, but though better of it.

Snape continued. "I will tutor you in both Defense and Potions, to the point where you may reasonably pass your N.E.W.T.s. In addition, I will set aside time twice a week to discuss with you the questions you have."

He offered no reply, but the silence spoke volumes. A careful study of the Professor's face revealed no sign of mockery or sarcasm. As far as he could tell, this was a honest proposal.

"For what?"

"Asylum, at Grimmauld Place. For at least the summer, perhaps longer."

Harry looked away. It was strange, sure, but not unreasonable. There had to be more – Snape must have known that after all he did in the war, Harry would be glad to release the old house to his use. Unless… "Would I have to stay there with you?"

"Your perception skills have grown, as well. Yes, for the proper wards to be upheld, your cohabitation would be prudent." Snape explained.

"Do I have time to consider?" He asked.

"I'm afraid not." The Potions Master sighed. "I need your decision as soon as possible. I wouldn't be coming alone, and my associate needs a place to stay tonight."

"You're bringing someone with you?" For some reason, he didn't imagine Snape with too many friends.

"Draco Malfoy."

Harry looked up, surprised. "You want me to be housemates with you and Malfoy? Professor I – well, I don't want to be rude, but…"

"He's proved his loyalties, or at least lack thereof, hasn't he?" Snape prompted.

"Of course." He agreed. "It's just… independent of that, going past the war or even house rivalries, the two of us don't get on well."

"I'm not requesting friendship. Only shelter."

"I'm more than happy to give you a room in Grimmauld Place, and I don't want Malfoy out on the streets or anything – he hasn't got a place with his parents?" Harry proposed.

"You won't be privy to the situation between Draco and his parents, but take my word that he has no where else to go. He is in my custody." The older explained.

"Hogwarts? Your rooms?" Harry was desperate.

"Unsafe for the child of Voldemort's closest slave. I assure you, all other options have been considered and dropped, for one reason or another. If you truly fear for your safety, I'll have an auror of your choosing accompany us tonight. They will cast basic wards to protect inhabitants against malevolence and violence, if only for your peace of mind." Snape leaned back, allowing the information to sink in. "That is, if you decide to open your home."

He was truly on the fence. It wouldn't be right to leave anyone unsafe, especially in these raw days of aftermath, but could he take this man's word? Malfoy was farther than a bully; he was an absolute terror. A marked Death Eater who wanted Harry out of the picture for the past seven years.

He could've stayed that way forever, weighing the options, but a slight aversion of his eyes decided everything. Up on the wall, the portrait of Albus Dumbledore was staring down at Harry. Those eyes didn't pierce quite like the real pair, but it was enough to drag up the memories. Dumbledore trusted Snape. In spite of the tumultuous past year, Harry was finally secured in his trust of Dumbledore. He could take Snape's word.

"All right, then. You and Malfoy will stay with me at Grimmauld Place." He finally responded.

Snape looked hesitant. "For the duration requested?"

He shrugged. "As long as you need to."

"And you accept my offers? We won't be staying on your charity alone."

"Right. You'll tutor me, and we'll have those discussions, in exchange for use of the house? Fair enough." He felt increasingly awkward, and began to play with his thumbs.

Snape nodded. "If you'll manage to occupy yourself until ten thirty, Draco and I will finish packing our things. Who would you like to assist me in warding the house?"

He considered, for a moment. "Hermione will come to put up something temporary, just for tonight. I don't want to bother anyone else right now. Tomorrow I'll ask Kingsley to do something a little more stable. No offense – I mean, I know you're… it would just give us all peace of mind, I think."

"As needless as your concerns in this regard are, Potter, I understand." There was nothing sympathetic or appreciative in them man's tone, per say, but the words shook Harry just the same.

"I'll be at the Burrow. Should Hermione and I meet you in the hospital wing, then?" He suggested, referencing the only available floo.

Without responding, Snape walked to his own fireplace. He murmured an incantation that Harry couldn't quite hear, but its effect was soon obvious.

"The Headmaster's Office is now connected to the Weasley home. You may use it to leave, and again to return." The older explained.

"Thanks." Harry said, comforted that he didn't get anything back. "Ten thirty, then."

Snape nodded once more. Harry tried to be subtle, but he couldn't get into the fireplace fast enough.

"THE BURROW!"


	4. Home

**A/N: I keep forgetting to slide one of these in before a chapter! I'd like to thank you all for the wonderful feedback, it really pushes me to write as fast as I can! On that note, I know, I've been updating at a snail's pace – bear with me, and I'll try to update more frequently from now on.**

**A very belated disclaimer: all nouns belong to J.K. Rowling, just borrowing them to create this story.**

Harry stepped out, careful not to shake any ashes on the carpet. He pushed the past twenty minutes as far back into his mind as they would go; he was here to see the Weasleys, not focus on that bizarre meeting.

"Harry? Oh, Harry!" Mrs. Weasley walked in from the kitchen, where it looked at though she'd been speaking with Arthur. He hugged her for as long as either of them could stand it, then clasped her tearful husband's hand.

"Merlin, Harry…" The man trailed off.

"I know." He released his grip, and stayed patiently silent, though grief permeated the space.

"Go up with the rest, Harry, they've been waiting to see you." Mrs. Weasley offered.

"Sorry I got here so late, I…" He began to apologize.

"Hermione already warned us. No need to worry, dear." She gave a compulsory ghost of a smile. "Unfortunately, I didn't get the chance to make a bed up for you…"

This time, Harry interrupted. "That's fine, you really don't have to do anything for me. As it turns out, I won't be able to sleep here, tonight."

"Where'll you be going?" Mr. Weasley asked, concerned.

He tried to keep his answer as vague as possible. "Some refugees need shelter at Grimmauld place, and the wards won't work properly if I'm not there."

Both adults looked as if they were going to question him, but neither spoke. Instead, Arthur nodded and returned to the kitchen. Molly kept him for just a moment more.

"So long as you'll still drop by during the daytime? I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times – you're like another son to Arthur and I. Its nice to have family around in times like these."

"Of course! Mrs. Weasley, all I have to do is physically sleep there."

"Good." She ushered him to the stairs, a comforting hand on his back.

"Oh – Professor Snape extends him condolences." Harry added.

She sniffed and shut her eyes for a moment. "Tell him thank you, dear."

"Right." Not to intrude on her mourning, Harry continued up the stairs. He intended to continue straight up to Ron's room, but the first landing gave him pause. A slightly ajar door revealed a pink bedroom, and he could see the only Weasley daughter sitting on her bed. In an instant, he felt a rush of _everything._ Severing pain clashed with uplifting warmth as he knocked on the door frame.

"I'm exhausted." A voice complained.

"Sorry." Harry said, quietly. "Night, then."

"A minute!" The voice called out, the tone drastically different. Ginny soon appeared in the doorway, a grey cardigan over her sleep clothes. "Thought you were Bill."

"I don't mean to keep you up." He apologized.

"Don't be stupid. Would you like to step in?"

It was all the cue Harry needed. He rushed forward, but stopped short before embracing her: they did break up, after all. He wanted, _needed_, to comfort her, but would it be callous or selfish, given the circumstances?

Before he had time to decide, she looked up at him. Those big, brown eyes – bullocks what anyone ever said about his, her eyes could easily light up a world, capture a heart, captivate a room…

Bring a soldier home from war, and make him stay.

Harry relented, pulling her in tight. Her sweet smelling hair induced a small rush of memories, making him feel silly that he didn't know what to do just a moment ago. This was Ginny, for Merlin's sake! His Ginny.

"How are you?" He asked, quietly.

She let out a mirthless laugh, reaching for his hand at her shoulder. "What could I say to that?"

Harry shook his head. "Sorry, Gin. I'm so sorry."

"Thanks. Really glad you're here." Her voice broke, and embarrassment drew her away.

Harry wouldn't have any of it. He pulled her in tighter, and began to rub her back. "I wish I could've been here."

She waited a moment, before giving up on collecting herself. Harry felt tears on his neck, where her brow was pressed. "Will you sit with me tomorrow?"

At Fred's funeral, she meant. Tomorrow would be difficult, to say the absolute least: Colin Creevy would be buried first thing in the morning, Lavender Brown in the late afternoon, and Fred when the sun fully set.

"All day, if you want." He offered.

She nodded and sat up, wiping at her eyes. Harry figured a bit of distraction might be in order.

"You'll never guess what kept me at Hogwarts, today." He began.

"Hm?" She was feigning interest, he could tell.

"A meeting with the always pleasant Severus Snape. I could barely pull myself away, honestly."

This earned him a tiny smile. "Poor Harry. Guess after Voldemort, you had to work your way down, didn't you? Couldn't integrate directly into mainstream society, quite yet." She half teased.

"Had to subject myself to Greasy Git for a sense of normalcy, you mean? Right." He smiled back, glad to see her spirits (even if a fraction, and temporarily) uplifted. "Did you know he's close to Malfoy?"

"Obviously, Harry." She drew herself in closer, contradicting her tone.

"No, I mean aside from Slytherin, and the war. Apparently Malfoy has no place to stay, so he's with Snape." He took a moment, before continuing. "He asked me for refuge at Grimmauld Place."

"That's interesting." She sounded more involved in what he was saying. "You gave it to them, I hope?"

"Yeah, we'll be there for at least the summer. Maybe longer, Snape said." Harry spoke quickly, but he should've know that her mind worked faster than his words.

"That's right, just slip that one in." Ginny reprimanded. "You're living with Snape and Malfoy? What about staying here?"

"Not as sly as I thought I was, I suppose." He tried. She didn't smile. "It was either stay with them, or they sleep unprotected. How could I do that?"

"I'm worried about _you._ Snape will be fine, I'm sure, but how do you know Malfoy won't take a wand to your neck in while you sleep?"

"Heremione'll stop by tonight to set up some wards, then Kingsley will reinforce them when he has a chance. You don't need to worry about me, Gin." Harry promised.

She scoffed. "Not anymore, I suppose."

"Ginny, I'm so-"

She interrupted. "Don't say you're sorry, I know I'm being selfish. I wish you were staying here, that's all."

"If I could. I want to be staying here." He explained.

"I know, I said I know I'm being selfish." She sounded exasperated. Her expression turned confused, all of a sudden, as though she were judging herself. "I'm a mess, aren't I?"

He gently tugged on her hair. "You're exhausted, that's all. You're too brilliant to be a mess."

"Missed you so much." Those _eyes_ again.

"Like you wouldn't believe." Harry muttered, the first clause of his thought obvious.

They sat for a while longer, comforted by the easy silence that the other's company brought. Eventually, Ginny nudged him.

"You can go see Ron and Hermione, if you'd like."

"Spent a year with them, in a tent. They might be sick of me." He joked.

"Actually," she retorted, "they might've gotten attached. Thinking of keeping you around.

"Then I'll drop by." He squeezed her hand before leaving the room.

Outside Ron's door, Harry could hear the hints of a soft conversation inside. He didn't want to interrupt, but it wasn't as though he'd be sticking around all night.

Still, his hand hesitated before knocking. Between the kiss and the end of the battle, there hadn't been much time to discuss this new romance. It wouldn't change anything – would it? _I'm being ridiculous._ He reasoned. These were his two best friends, and he'd camped out with them for months while they'd been all but dating. He pocketed that nervousness to contemplate at another time, and knocked.

"C'min." Ron slurred. Between the greeting and the sight inside the room, Harry could tell that his best friend wasn't in quite an easy state as Ginny. The youngest Weasley brother wasn't known for his stoicism.

Hermione sat on the end of the bed, cross-legged. She had a book on her lap, but it was untouched, nothing more than a comforting weight. Ron was pacing in a broken pattern and tempo; he came to a full stop before Harry.

There were moments to let men be men – where meaningful eye contact or a sharp nod would suffice. The boys were nearly brothers, and such conventions had become habit over the years. They rarely spoke or interacted deeper than surface, simply because they knew each other so well.

This was not one of those times.

Harry reached out, and was glad that Ron returned the embrace.

"You doing okay?" He asked, over his friend's shoulder.

"Like shit."

Harry let him go, and the pacing resumed.

"How did things go?" Hermione spoke from her perch.

Harry sat beside her. "No better or worse than expected."

She scoffed. "That's some answer."

"Well, what's he got to compare it to?" Ro surprisingly chimed in. "I mean, every time he's had to talk to the git, it's been as a student." He redirected his attention to Harry. "What was he like?"

"Strange." Harry admitted. "Not so much git, I guess, but not nice. Though I can't tell if he's really had a change, or if he had to be weird because he needs something from me."

"Snape?" Ron was incredulous. "Snape needs something from you?"

"Get this –"

"Harry," Hermione interrupted, "Think before you speak. Don't share anything that isn't yours to share."

"Come _off_ it, Hermione." Ron's words were much more scathing than the situation called for. He blinked twice, registering the looks from the two others, before realizing what he'd done. "Sorry." He said, shaking his head as if he were clearing it. "you… you know."

"I know." Hermione said softly, offering her hand to him. Ron sat on her other side, his head resting heavy on her shoulder. Harry continued.

"Just don't tell, all right?" He began, swiftly recapping the meeting.

In a rare - perhaps unprecedented - moment, Hermione and Ron's reactions were all but identical. They both appeared to be taken aback and confused; the look one would get if they took a deep swig of butterbeer, only to taste old, slightly discolored pumpkin juice.

"The end?" Harry prompted.

"Did you come here to hide out, or are you actually going through with this?" Ron asked.

"He's going through with it." Hermione insisted. "It would be awfully disrespectful, wrong on so many levels to lie like that. Right?" She tested.

"I'm going, don't worry." He rolled his eyes. "I wont enjoy it, I'll be nearly as uptight as when we slept in the bloody tent, but I'm going."

The three fell into a silence. This particular moment in time was disconcerting – there was an overwhelming relief that everything was finally over, contrasted by a stinging and ugly grief. Now there was this tinge of _whatever_: a plot, or a deal, or a something unidentifiable but positively Slytherin. Thought they all felt the inexplicable strangeness, Hermione was the first to act on it. She wrapped one arm around Ron's waist, and the other about Harry's shoulders.

"Rita has an article out, already. She's dubbed us 'The Golden Trio.'"

"'Course you've already found something to read." Ron sighed.

The three of them laughed. It wasn't anything side splitting, no louder or longer than a chuckle, but it was genuine. The sound tore Harry from his misery, at least in regard to his living situation. He had his friends, didn't he? He wasn't afraid of Slytherins.

At ten twenty-eight, Harry stepped through the floo, into the Headmaster's office. Fifteen seconds later, Hermione joined him. The latter barely had time to _evanesco _the ashes from their shoes before a quite familiar voice cut in.

"I'm glad you've been prompt. Severus will appreciate the effort."

The teenagers immediately sought out the portrait. It didn't take long, though, to find the newest addition to the office. Albus Dumbledore looked down, wearing a proud smile that reached every corner of his face.

"Professor!" Hermione exclaimed.

"You didn't think I'd run off in the wake of your visit, did you?" He asked, lightheartedly referencing their post-battle trip to the office.

However, Hermione couldn't take anything a Professor said to be lighthearted. "I didn't think that for a moment!" She defended. "It's still a shock to hear your voice."

The former Headmaster redirected his attention to Harry. "I regret not being present for your meeting with Severus. I was distracted, elsewhere in the castle."

As though Albus Dumbledore ever did anything unintentionally, or get distracted at all, for that matter.

"It's all right, Professor. The two of us might not need a moderator anymore." Harry offered.

"That is very good to hear. Perhaps you'll stop by, later in the week? I should like to hear how things are going at Grimmauld Place."

The boy opened his mouth to answer, but was cut off by the creak of the door opening. Snape entered, trailed closely by Draco Malfoy. They both levitated large trunks in front of them. There wasn't a word of greeting, though the latter looked as though he was holding in a mouthful.

Snape approached Hermione, producing a small pouch from his pocket. "Granger." He began, in way of greeting.

"Professor Snape –" She tried to speak, but was quickly cut off.

"I will not mollify this with senseless small talk."

Hermione bit her lower lip, clearly annoyed. When Harry was on the receiving end of that expression, it usually meant a painful hex (or an even more painful lecture), but he suspected that their former Professor would get off relatively easier.

"Manners have never been your forte, either." She commented.

The older main raised an eyebrow, perhaps attentive to her new boldness. Regardless of what he thought, the matter was dropped. "You should go through, first. If I tell you that Alastor Moody warded and hexed the residence using a semi-permanent variation on the caterwauling charm, is that enough information for you to take care of it?"

She nodded, and accepted floo powder from the pouch. "It shouldn't take more than a minute or so before you can follow." She informed, before stepping through the fireplace.

"Why couldn't you just have told her?" Harry asked, the moment his friend was gone. "Not everything has to be a test."

"As insufferable as your girlfriend is, Potter, it would be an insult to her intelligence for me to lay out the incantations." Snape commented.

"Not my girlfriend." Harry mumbled. What happened to the civil, if awkward, conduct from only a few hours ago?

"Harry, a correct assumption on your part, then. No need for a moderator. " Dumbledore's portrait lightly teased.

Malfoy jerked to a start, as though stabbed at the base of his spine. He looked towards the portrait, then swiftly back to his shoes.

Snape lightly shoved his godson's shoulder. "You may floo through now."

Dumbledore waited for Malfoy to exit before speaking again. "He doesn't have blood on his hands, though I see he is swift to forget that."

"You are of oil and canvas, yet you still try to control my actions." Snape dryly commented.

"It was only an observation." Dumbledore replied, just as offhanded.

"Through the floo, with you." Snape directed Harry.

**Remember to review! I seriously want to hear all about what you loved, hated, thought was strange, suggest, etc. Your two seconds mean the absolute world to me.**


	5. Grief

Severus Snape couldn't help but to scoff on his way downstairs. Every other light was lit, and it was the dead of the night. Wizards needn't think of electric bills, but he still thought it was rather careless of Potter to leave them on. Hadn't Granger left hours ago?

Things made more sense when he reached the dining room. There sat the boy-who-lived, in all his heroic glory, lazily drumming on the edge of the table. For a modern legend, that shirt was terribly dingy.

"Is this how you chose to occupy most of your evenings?"

Severus experienced the usual schadenfreude as Potter startled. The boy turned, and swiftly let his face fall into a glare. "Why are you lurking around? It's half past two."

"No need to be on edge, Potter. Miss Granger has warded the residence so thoroughly that I believe, should I move a chair that you later stub your toe on, a series of alarms will summon both her and the Auror Corps." He was only partially joking.

The child cringed, as he had done countless times in their meeting. It caught the Professor's interest, though not enough to be an actual concern.

"Tell me about it." Despite his initial reaction, the boy managed to relax back into his atrocious posture. "I can't even get into Sirius's room."

The name brought bile to the back of Severus's mouth, but he forced himself to refrain from comment. The boy was providing a paramount service, and insulting the dead dog could only jeopardize Draco's safety. "She was merely disallowing entrance for Draco and myself. Time did not permit the steps necessary to attune your magic to that particular ward."

Potter shrugged. "That's what I figured. Kingsley'll fix it tomorrow."

He didn't answer, instead crossing to the cabinets in search of a kettle. The unexpected company wouldn't deter him from his original intention. Swift wandwork made the usually slow process a thirty-second ordeal, and he soon sat at the opposite end of the table with his mug.

"I would have offered to brew two servings, but I assume he who defeated the Dark Lord is capable of boiling water."

Another irritating shrug. "I'm not such a fan of tea."

In his post at Hogwarts, Severus saw this time and time again. Years of students, without fail, fall into that same adolescent pit: as a way of asserting their individuality, they refuted anything widely liked. It both infuriated and amused him to no end.

"How decidedly unpatriotic of you." He mocked.

"Any reason you're not asleep, or is middle-of-the-night-tea just a thing of yours?" The child asked.

He didn't have to dignify it with an answer, as Potter certainly didn't care enough to take offense. Therefore, he didn't quite understand why he replied with the honestly that he did. "Once I realized that there would a fight, I ingested a potion that would keep me awake for forty-eight hours, as a precaution. Fatigue has no place on the battlefield."

"You really thought it would go on for that long?"

Severus shook his head. "Hence my use of the word precaution. I suspected an end before daybreak, as occurred."

"Madame Pomfrey tracked me down early yesterday morning. I have no idea what she gave me, but I was out for a while. My sleeping schedule is all mucked up now." The boy explained himself.

He could instantly name four candidate solutions Potter may have been drugged with, but neither would appreciate a discussion of potions with the other. Instead, he decided to take advantage of this impromptu conversation, and turn to more practical matters.

"Tomorrow may be tiresome. I'm certain your sleeping habits will mend themselves in reaction. While you… go about your matters of the day, I intend on returning to the castle. I inform you of this only because Draco will not accompany me. Fair warning so that you do not infer the presence of an intruder, should you return midday." He clarified.

He received a wrinkled nose in return. "I don't fancy the idea of him digging through my things, unsupervised."

"Say what you will of Draco Malfoy - I'm well aware of the dynamic between you two - but you can't claim that he'd 'dig around' anything." Severus refuted.

The child rolled his eyes. "Sir, I'm sure you know what I mean. He'll act like a pompous prat, he might even wear gloves, but he'll be digging around."

"When ever did you become so comfortable slighting Draco before me? This is a twist to your typical brand of arrogance." He tested.

"When you lost your ability to take points, I suppose." Potter's face colored slightly. Not in embarrassment, but perhaps anger. Fortunately, the moment was gone before it arrived. "Sorry, tomorrow has got me on edge. I suppose Malfoy won't touch anything too important." His statement was more of a question.

"Miss Granger's aforementioned wards would make it difficult for him, to say the absolute least." He noted.

Abruptly, the boy stopped drumming his fingers. He looked up, locking eyes with the Potions Master.

Those precious eyes, damned to that _Potter_ body.

"It's sick." The boy said, snapping Severus out of his reverie.

"Excuse me?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Older students would always talk about their 'first summer' this time of year. First summer out of school, I suppose is what it meant. It was a tradition, I'm not sure if it existed when you were in school – anyway, they'd spend the whole thing together. It started with the end-of-N.E.W.T.s parties, then they'd go check out flats together, go to muggle pubs, crash Slytherin parties for the firewhiskey back when it was still safe – sorry. I just mean, this was _it_ for seventh years. It was legendary. What do we get? Merlin, my class is apparating around to one another's funerals! We haven't even gotten our N.E.W.T.s. We're picking up a busted castle instead of searching for flats. We've swapped muggle pubs for potentially addictive pain potions from the hospital wing."

The child was out of breath, but not finished. "I know it doesn't matter to you, Professor, I'm not stupid. I'm… I just… it's _sick._"

This eruption came from nowhere, robbing Severus of his opportunity to escape before things became hostile. He was left with few options: to offer comfort would be absurd and uncomfortable, but he couldn't well up and leave. He was pinned to his seat by an odd sensation of sympathy. Even stranger, Potter had yet to break eye contact.

He took the time to carefully construct his words before speaking. "Do not underestimate your peers. War can never be easy, but I daresay other generations wouldn't prove as capable in times of trauma. You are survivors, Mr. Potter."

With that he stood, deposited his mug in the sink, and moved to leave the kitchen. However, that same foreign emotion stopped him in the doorway. "My words do not discount what you express. It is sick."

* * *

Tiny in death. So tiny in death.

Harry tried to listen to Hermione. She was applying a salve to his left shoulder, on the newest addition to his collection of scars. This was from his latest run in with Avada Kedavra. An angry red line ran about four inches, and started just below his collarbone. It caused him no pain; the medicine was to drain the area of the more potent characteristics of curse scars.

Scars. Did Colin have any? Was Lavender's corpse marred by bite marks? His thoughts kept returning to the two funerals they'd already attended.

_Both were incredibly, breathtakingly fitting. The sun was young in the sky when Dennis Creevey (aged beyond adolescence in a matter of days) stood before a mahogany coffin, captivating the crowd as he wove his brother's story. He had urged them to be enthusiastic, to never stop marveling at the world around them; to carry Colin with them in that way._

_ In stark contrast, Lavender was laid to rest in the blazing radiance of late afternoon. Her grave was guarded by a koala patronus._

_ "Her's." Ginny whispered, sensing Harry's confusion. "In the rare case that someone casts their patronus, then dies before it can return to their wand, it stays to protect their final resting place."_

"… unhealthy, and you know it. I don't mean to nag, but – Harry!" Hermione scolded, giving him a gentle shake. "You need to listen."

"I was." He lamely lied.

She didn't even pretend to believe him. "This worries me. If you keep letting yourself get so lost in your thoughts, you'll end up a right mess."

"When I tell Ron that you criticized me for thinking, he won't believe it." Harry smirked.

"I've been saying the same thing to him! Both of you do this _thing,_ you get stuck in your mind and it worries me." She admitted.

Harry rubbed the bridge of his nose. "It's normal, Hermione. The problem here might just be you and the worrying."

Before their argument could escalate, someone entered the corridor from the hospital wing. Neville moving with an unnatural stillness joined them.

"You all right, Neville?"

"Careful, trip over your shoelace and she'll think you've torn a muscle."

"Harry."

Neville smiled at their antics. "Nice to see you two, as well. I'm fine, Hermione, just a side effect of my treatment."

"Treatment?" Harry asked.

"I lost a fair amount of blood. I have to take a double dose of the replenishing potion, which makes it a little difficult to move normally." He spoke as though he had only been in for a mild headache draught. "Anyway, Harry, could I talk with you for a second?"

Harry spoke before his best friend could protest. "He'll have me back quickly and in one piece. I promise, mom."

She narrowed her eyes and gave him a friendly shove. "You're awful."

Neville waved Hermione goodbye, then pulled Harry a few feet down the hall. "You been in to the hospital wing yet?"

"Yeah, think I've seen it once or twice."

"No cheek, or I tell Hermione on you." Neville false threatened.

He half laughed. "She'll find a way to take points, I'm sure. No, I haven't been in since the battle."

"I just thought I'd offer to go with you, to see Tonks and Remus? I know it's… it's easier when you're not on your own." The tone of the conversation quickly turned serious.

Harry chewed at his bottom lip. "I don't want to be in the way –"

"You won't." Neville interrupted. "In fact, Madame Pomfrey heard your voice and asked that I come invite you to see them. It won't be as bad as you think."

"I don't think it will be bad." He insisted. "But maybe not today."

"Why not?" His former classmate pushed.

"I'll stop by soon, honestly." He tried to speak with finality and drop the topic.

Neville drew his brow together. "Listen to Hermione, she's onto something. You're not being Harry, Harry."

He took slight offense. "That doesn't even make sense."

"You know what I mean."

"Not quite."

"_Harry._"

Neville sighed. "We're not first years, I don't want to argue. But I'm not finished bothering you on this. Will you come to me when you want to visit them? Or not, I guess. I don't need to come if you don't want me to. I just think it's a really good idea."

"Thanks, Neville." Harry smiled. "I'll catch up with you later."

"Right. Later." His friend shook his head before leaving.

This was getting a shade ridiculous.

* * *

It was relatively early when Harry returned to 12, Grimmauld Place. He originally intended on returning to the Burrow after the funeral, but he couldn't bring himself to intrude on the Weasleys. At the end, when Fred's coffin sunk into the earth the moment the sun set, there wasn't a single dry eye among them. The relative loneliness of the old London house was a more comfortable option, at the moment.

He flooed in, nearly running into a blonde who stood inconveniently close to the fireplace.

"Watch yourself, Malfoy." Harry muttered.

"Potter –" The boy began to growl in return.

Severus sitting at the table, didn't even bother to look up from his book as he interrupted. "Draco, I'm sure you have the social grace to keep a retort to yourself, considering the day Potter has had."

Harry supposed he should have felt comforted that someone was protecting him against Malfoy. However, this someone was Snape, and it did nothing but add to that weird feeling he kept getting from the Potions Master. Their early morning conversation probably didn't help much, he realized. A moment of stress induced weakness had him confining in the greasy git. Something between them was beginning to shift, or at least fall away.

It wasn't enjoyable in the slightest.

* * *

"Night." Harry grunted, brushing past Malfoy on his way upstairs. It was immature to shoulder check his former classmate, and certainly to ignore the Professor like that, but that sense of normalcy fortified him with a comforting strength.

An hour later, a knock came at Harry's door.

"You up?" An impatient voice came through.

He contemplated feigning sleep. He was already doing Malfoy a humungous favor, wasn't he? Harry didn't owe the prat anything, come to think of it.

"Kingsley was here this afternoon. I couldn't do anything to you if I wanted, Potter. Your light is on, and I heard you sneeze half a minute ago. Answer the bloody door!" The voice complained.

Harry took his time getting out of bed and opening up. "Have you been standing by listening, then? Not creepy at all."

Malfoy sneered, but didn't offer anything else.

"Well?" Harry pressed. "Just a social call?"

The blonde's shoulders tensed. "I think we've established that we don't frequent the same social circles."

He sighed, perhaps a bit too dramatically. "I was kidding. I don't suppose there are many jokes passed around in Slytherin, so begin learning to recognize one."

"I didn't come here to be berated."

"I didn't invite you to come to my room."

Two deep, calming breaths before Malfoy could speak again. "Always trying to start something. Typical Potter."

"Starting something, but then passing the blame onto me. Typical ferret."

"I want to –" The boy's speech stopped abruptly, and he took two steps back from the door frame. There was a tense, empty moment before the Slytherin escaped back down the wall. He slammed his own door behind him with a resonating thud.

Harry shut his in turn, this time remembering to switch off the light before climbing into bed. Sleep wouldn't claim him just yet, though he was physically weary. His mind raced circles about itself, the same central thoughts chasing each other in a demented mental tag. Fred's funeral passed to Snape's behavior, Ginny's hand in his to Malfoy's irritating interruption, Ron and Hermione's fragile whatever to Remus and Tonks in the hospital wing – Harry felt nothing but relief when the thoughts sunk into subconscious, and sweet slumber finally came.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you for the feedback! It happily pushed me to get this chapter out sooner than usual. As always, I encourage you to review – it would mean the world!**


	6. Auror's Ale

**Sorry it's been so long! Don't want to deliver an empty promise, but I will try my best to be quicker with the forthcoming chapters. Please review!**

Harry allowed himself to wake slowly. The further he could delay the day ahead, the better. It wasn't that he didn't want to help the reconstruction efforts, of course, but it was difficult to fathom leaving the house. 12 Grimmauld Place was safe. It made him think of early on in the war, when things were beneath the careful control of an old man with twinkling blue eyes.

For all he envied the Order members back then, he'd give nearly anything to be that angry fifteen-year-old again. That Harry only _thought_ things were bad. That Harry was in school, played Quidditch, had Sirius –

Perhaps this is what Hermione meant by getting stuck in his head.

Reluctantly, he pushed himself from bed, dressed, and walked downstairs. He was surprised to pass Snape, sitting in the Library.

"Potter, a moment?"

Harry approached the Professor, but didn't pass through the doorway. "Sir?"

"Are you in the habit of conducting conversation in entryways? Perhaps you'd do me the honor of taking a seat." The man suggested, deadpan.

He sat in the loveseat, across the room from the armchair that Snape occupied. "I hate to be rude, but I've committed to working on the castle today. I suppose I'm already late."

"No, not at all." The other mocked. "The rest of us thought to begin our work at the crack of eleven thirty, in solidarity with you and your lie in."

He couldn't resist the temptation to roll his eyes. So what, anyway? It wasn't as if the bat could take points, or assign detention. "What does that mean, us? You're here, same as me."

The haughty look that crossed the Professor's face immediately told Harry that he was missing something. "I was at Hogwarts for several hours this morning, before being tasked to pass on a message to you. Rita Skeeter has set up camp on the grounds. The Headmistress thought you'd prefer not to make an appearance until she can be shooed away."

Harry swore under his breath.

"Foul language ill becomes a War Hero." The bat slightly mocked, though Harry didn't hear much heart in the taunt. He shook his head, and tried to retreat to the bedroom.

"Thanks for passing the message along, then."

"As it stands," The Professor continued, indicating that he was in no way finished, "I, as well, cannot be on grounds today. Miss Skeeter is laboring under the impression that I'm eager to spin a captivating tale of romance. I should thank you again for your timely sharing of my memories."

"I didn't mean –" Harry began. He pulled his lower lip between his teeth, and took a deep breath. "Sorry, sir."

"Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley are working on the Entrance Hall. Once they've finished, I believe they intend on visiting with you." Snape commented. "As you can see, I've been reduced to playing owl."

"No one meant anything by it. Just an added perk of living with me." Harry shrugged.

Snape brushed it off, clearly finished with the topic. "Until your friends arrive, I assume you have spare time?"

Harry nodded.

"Have a seat, then. I've got an end of a bargain to keep."

Harry felt decidedly awkward. He wasn't sure how this would come up, but didn't expect it to be so formal or spontaneous. "Is this a good time for you?"

"Very." Snape agreed. "Draco won't come out of his room for another hour, perhaps two. It isn't often that I have this respite from his company."

"I was under the impression…" Harry began.

"Do not misunderstand me, he is my godson. I enjoy having him about. However, it wouldn't suit either of us for him to intrude upon this particular conversation."

Harry nodded. "Actually, sir, do you mind if I ask a question? About Draco?"

Snape raised an eyebrow, which he interpreted as not a particularly bad sign.

"He knocked on my door last night. Late. He wanted to say something, I guess, but I've no idea what it was. Just showed himself out quickly as he showed himself in." He explained.

The man allowed for a short sigh. "He is feeling the effects of war, same as yourself and the rest of your peers. The only reply I can offer is to please excuse his unpredictable behavior. So long as we three cohabit this house, I predict that won't be the last show of… this particular idiosyncrasy."

"Right." Harry nodded. "Though you aren't doing a very good job of convincing me that the wards were useless."

"Potter –" The sharp voice was frighteningly reminiscent of Potions class. However, the Professor was quick to calm. "I certainly understand your doubt. Draco has his explanations, but they are not mine to share."

"Of course." It was a moment before his next thought came to him. "Is that what he was trying to do, then? Explain himself?"

Snape shook his head. "I haven't spoken with him since this incident, but I suspect that is not the case. You're an awful enigma to him – that is all I will say on the subject."

Harry's face was blank.

"Please don't ask me to define 'enigma.'"

Harry snorted. "I'm not an idiot."

Snape raised an eyebrow, but steered the conversation away from his godson. "Questions. If I'm to pay my rent in dignity by allowing you to plow through my past, I'd like to get on with it."

"Don't make it sound so awful." Harry said, affronted. "This was your idea."

"As it was. My words were hyperbole, Potter." Snape admitted.

"You were joking?" He asked, confused.

"You take me for someone who tells jokes?"

That sparked something in Harry. "The first thing I'd like to ask, then. It isn't about my mother, but if you don't mind answering, I'm curious – the Potions Professor who I knew at Hogwarts would never joke. Or borderline joke, as you've been doing. You've missed at least a hundred opportunities to insult me since we spoke in the office." His voice dropped, a bit. "You listened when we were in the dining room the other night. I wouldn't accuse you of being nice, per say, but you aren't being, you know…"

"You question my behavior change." Snape stated, apparently unbothered.

"Yes." He agreed.

"In spite of daunting odds, you managed to secure the safety of our world by disposing of the Dark Lord. Make no mistake – I have no desire to grovel at your feet like many are so inclined, but it would be a lie to say my opinion of you isn't somewhat… altered, in light of this."

"I've been upped from abhorred to disliked?" Harry suggested.

Snape rolled his eyes. "Utterly detested to abhorred would be more appropriate. Further, it would be foolish of me to try and maintain our enmity while living in close quarters."

That made sense, Harry supposed. At Hogwarts they were subject to mutual company a few hours a week, tops. It was easy to be foul back then. Now, though, the berating back and forth would be exhausting.

"So, a truce?" Harry offered.

"I wasn't aware of another war."

"You know what I mean, Professor."

"Truce, if you insist upon the formality."

Harry nodded his acceptance. "What of 'Professor', then? I have to say I was surprised to hear you'll be returning to Hogwarts. Thought it was just a part of your cover."

Long fingers tented, the man's gaze turned dark. "It is difficult to explain…"

"You haven't got to." He quickly excused. "I'll understand."

Snape waved him off. "I much prefer this path of questions to other trails the conversation could be taking. I can explain myself." He took a breath. "Penance, Potter. Being the Order's spy, keeping your arse out of nearly constant trouble – those only account for the tip of my misdeeds."

"That isn't right!" Harry protested. "You did _loads_-"

"I do not aim to decry myself." The Professor quickly interrupted. "I'm well aware of my actions during both the interim and the second war, how they aided the effort. Were it not for Albus, I'd be dust in the earth right now, or just as well off in the pits of Azkaban. He had many requests of me, but one of the most tolerable was the appointment as Potions Master. Perhaps it wasn't my original intention, but I've made a life for myself teaching at Hogwarts. So long as Headmistress McGonagall will have me, I'll continue."

"You got it sorted out?" Harry asked.

"Indeed. I can't claim –" Snape cut off, furrowing his brow. He was silent for a moment, then mumbled "idiot…"

"Sir?"

The man waved his hand, again. "Enter, Draco!" He called, less than pleased.

Sure enough, the towheaded boy slowly crossed the threshold, apparently having been under an obscurity enchantment. "Morning." He grunted.

"I am not Narcissa." Snape sneered. "I do not find eavesdropping to be endearing or intelligent in any way."

As though tempting true violence, Draco shrugged. "Just waiting to find out when you'd be finished. Needed to talk to you."

"You _need_ sleep, moronic boy! Or have my words fallen on deaf ears?"

Harry watched as the younger became angry. "The potion you gave me wasn't worth two sickles!"

The older man stood, too still. "We will discuss the effects of my work at a later time. I'm flooing to my quarters for a more concentrated sample. You are not to try anything while I'm away." He then turned to Harry. "My apologies, Potter, but the remainder of our discussion shall have to be postponed. I didn't expect such a soon interruption." He didn't wait for a reply, hurrying out on his way.

In the wake stood two seventeen-year-old boys, awkwardly regarding one another.

"I didn't only hear through the charm." Draco said after a short time. "I was listening in the old fashioned way at first. I heard you offer Severus a truce."

Harry looked up. "I did."

"I'm interested in one, as well."

The dark haired boy nearly laughed. "A few days ago, I learned that Professor Snape has been saving my life for the past seven years, and that he cared very deeply for my mum. He'll be tutoring me, and is willing to talk to me about her. You, on the other hand, have quite literally wanted me dead for equal time. No offense, but I don't think a truce is on the table for us."

"So the only people worthy of redemption are the ones who kept you from dying?" Draco's abnormally short temper made an unsurprising appearance. "Can I remind you that he's marked, as well? Severus was a 'Draco Malfoy', once."

"Do you know what he's gone through to undo that?"

The boy was now enraged. "You think you know better than I do? I, his godson? From a few memories now you're an expert, aren't you? He did worse than me, Potter, he's told me more than once."

"I figured as much, Malfoy." Harry said with a sigh. "I don't know what you're getting at, but a truce would be… it isn't happening. Let's just stick to ourselves."

"Good chance of that happening, now that we're practically roommates." Draco complained.

"No one says you have to talk to me. Or barge in while I'm trying to sleep."

"Don't lie, Potter, there's no way you were going to sleep."

"Maybe I sleep with my light on!"

"You're ridiculous!" Draco yelled. "I'm not asking to be your friend or anything awful like that, just for the Boy-who-bloody-lived to grace me with two seconds of attention."

Harry was too exhausted to continue. "Fine."

"Auror's Ale."

"Excuse me?" Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Haven't you heard of Auror's Ale?" Draco asked, slowly.

Harry shrugged.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Have your girlfriend Granger get on it, then. Auror's Ale."

"One, she isn't my girlfriend. Two, you're a prat. Three, you're not assigning me homework." He insisted.

"Merlin!" exclaimed Draco. "It isn't advanced arithmancy! She probably already knows about it, anyhow. I won't ask anything else of you Potter, seriously, if you look up Auror's Ale."

"That's how easy I get off?" Harry grabbed at the offer. "Fine, then. She'll be stopping by any time now, and I'll ask her about it."

Draco's face pulled in, as though he smelled something rotten. "Is the Weasel coming, as well?"

"Yes, _Ron_ is coming over. To my house." Harry punched out.

Draco nodded, obviously pained by censoring himself. The blonde made a quick exit, leaving Harry alone in the Library.

This was too much, before breakfast.


	7. Trust

The floo flared alive, and Harry instantly perked up. Between the events of yesterday and the strangeness of this morning, he was eager to see Hermione and Ron. Time and time again, a good talk with his best friends always helped straighten things out. However, neither of the expected stepped though - it was a different Weasley. She took a moment to brush herself off before looking up.

"Hi, Harry."

"Ginny!" He cried. "Wasn't expecting you."

"Is it okay that I stopped over? I was asked to leave the castle for the morning." She grinned, not so sheepishly. "Mum was under the impression that my behavior towards Rita Skeeter was perhaps a tad rude."

Harry smiled, as well. "Wonderful."

"Where can we go that we won't be in Snape or Malfoy's way?" She dropped her voice. "Where will they not barge in?"

"Snape is at Hogwarts for the moment, so no need to worry about him. I'm not sure there's anywhere safe from Malfoy – want to go sit in the here? It's the only place totally gutted from creepy, ancient 'House of Black' junk." He offered.

"Fine with me."

Harry pulled out a chair, and found a box of biscuits for them in a cabinet.

"Things are okay at the Burrow, then?" He asked, pulling a chair out for her.

"As good as they can be." Ginny shrugged. "I mean, you know. You should stop by tonight."

"I'll try." Harry nodded, trying to look positive. It was nice of her to offer, but he really didn't want to infringe on their mourning. This was a time for family, wasn't it? "What about you?"

She offered a small smile. "I feel better talking to you."

He scooted his chair in a little closer.

"I know we have loads to talk about… I'm just not sure I'm up to it yet." She confessed.

"Right." He nodded. "Right, me either."

She smiled. "Spending a lot of time with Malfoy and Snape?"

"Oh loads!" Harry teased. "We've been doing each other's hair and nails every hour on the hour – you're welcome to join, of course, when Snape gets back. Chatting endlessly, because we've got oh so much in common."

She reached for his hand. Her palm had always felt small in his, but something had changed. There was a stronger power to her, sound warmth radiating from her touch. He leaned in.

"I'll bet you're more alike than you think. I'm not trying to call you a Slytherin, of course, but there are some… qualities."

He raised his brow, urging her to elaborate.

She sighed. "I wouldn't go so far as to call you a loner, not like either of them, but you are pretty independent. Certainly more so than the rest of us."

"I just spent every hour of every day for nearly a year with Ron and Hermione." He protested.

"But you could've done it on your own. You would have, if they didn't go with you. Maybe it was only the prophecy, but don't tell me you didn't try for a sort of distance. From everybody."

He looked concerned. "I see where you're going with this."

"What?" Ginny asked, confused.

"You want to talk about when we broke things off?" He prompted.

"No!" She insisted. "Well, yes, but no. That wasn't why I brought this up. I feel a bit bad for Snape, that's all. I'm suggesting that you be his… I don't know, casual acquaintance? That's all."

"Don't let him hear you say that." Harry warned. "He's already upset enough, just assuming that people pity him." He let out a mirthless laugh. "He's the only bloke I know who would prefer playing the villain to the hero."

"Well, you of all people should understand. You hate the Boy-Who-Lived, hero and savior rubbish." She saw fit to mention.

"Doesn't mean I'd want the opposite, though." He pushed some hair from his brow. "I'd like to give anonymity a chance."

She bit at her lip, looking both doubtful and encouraging. "Good luck with that."

"Skeeter's bound to find a new victim, some time or another. Fancy enlisting someone to whip up a scandal or two?" He asked, sarcastic.

"I'm not hiring you a diversion." She laughed. "People are stupid, someone will do something of their own volition soon enough."

"Then I go into hiding." Harry mused aloud. "Your family and Hermione are the only people who will know where I am. I'll live among muggles who don't think of anything but a rip in my head when they see the scar; they don't think anything of me but 'that strange bloke who lives in the flat upstairs.'"

"That simply won't happen." Ginny stood, and then pulled Harry to stand with her. She looked at him with serious eyes. "You're daft if you think the most special thing about you is the scar."

He couldn't help it. A moment ago they all but agreed not to, still, the space between their faces rapidly decreased. His lips fell onto hers and he was home, in the clearest way. His hands found her shoulders as hers found his waist. He pulled her closer to him because bullocks his crap idea about waiting, because she was more intoxicating than the Hog's Head's best, because _Ginny_-

_A shite Auror I'll make_, Harry later thought, because neither noticed the floo flare alive. Their moment was interrupted by the unmistakable shatter of glass. Harry grabbed for his wand, but quickly relented when he saw who was there. Nothing to be afraid of, it was only Snape.

"Weasley?" Oddly enough, the man asked rather than greeted.

"Good morning, Professor." She replied tentatively.

Perhaps they should be afraid, Harry wondered. The Potions Master had inexplicably faded from sallow to pale, whiter than an aspen wand. Not one for dramatics, Snape quickly returned to himself, mending the vial and summoning the potion in a matter of seconds.

"Potter." He spat, using a brand of venom that hadn't been unleashed since at least Harry's fifth year. That was it, then. The Professor saw himself out as swiftly as he entered.

There was a long moment. Harry returned to the girl still in his arms. "We can ignore that." He suggested. "I'm going to ignore that. Still think we should make friends?"

"It was strange by his standards." She complained.

"It's his own business, however moody he'd like to be." He shrugged. "He doesn't need a seventeen-year-old mum."

"Right." Ginny agreed. Her gaze fell down to her hands, still holding him close. "I thought there would be a lot more to talk about, but you didn't meet a veela out there, did you?"

"No." He promised, wishing he could be a bit more poetic around her. Not dramatically so, but at least able to manage more than monosyllabic.

"No girl holding you accountable?"

"Only one." He tried. "A redhead about this tall –" He squashed a hand directly on top of her head, "big brown eyes, and a temper that'll go down in history books. You know her?"

And that was it. This was their second beginning, but Harry not so secretly hoped it would be their last. He was too young to fully commit, yet not stupid enough to think there'd be anyone else. She captured him.

Another hour flew by, where they spoke of both nothing and everything. Ginny shared some of Charlie's more colorful scar stories (not minding his distance from a Hungarian Horntail's whipe-like body), and Harry expanded upon the few lighthearted camping exploits (him and Ron badgering Hermione to cook, coming out with a strong marble mouth hex each). They debated the Tutshill Tornadoes newer cheating scandal, and quietly mocked Ron's beloved Cannons. It was too soon, in Harry's opinion, when Ginny grabbed a handful of floo powder.

"You'll try and come by tonight?"

Suddenly nervous, Harry pulled at his hair. "I'll really try."

She smiled. "Good." He moved in for a kiss goodbye, but she abruptly dropped the floo powder back in the sack. "I nearly forgot! I know you aren't interested in any of the big celebration parties – neither am I – but I was speaking to Oliver today. He invited us both to stop by his flat tomorrow evening. He's having Puddlemere United, their reserves, and your old team over for a very small get-together. He even promised no guests of guests, no one unless they were explicitly invited. Will you come with me?"

He took the opportunity to move in for a peck. "Sounds bearable. Sounds great."

She nodded. "I don't think it'll be half bad. Floo to mine around seven thirty so we can go together."

"It's a date." He confirmed.

She rolled her eyes, and then playfully waved him away. "The burrow!" With a shout, she disappeared into green flames.

Harry wandered up the stairs, happiness weighing comfortably on his heart. It was right; he rationalized, that this reunion should come amid the absolute trials of post-war adjustment.

He wandered right into the room where he had met with Snape earlier that morning. The man had returned to his same chair, nose deep in the spine of a substantial tome. It wasn't a picture that should appreciate being disturbed, but Harry felt bizarrely to interrupt. Snape had joked with his (in an odd way) that morning, and it wasn't like he'd up and kill Harry –

He couldn't right? No, of course not. Harry was offering him and his precious godson refuge.

Armed with that information and a fair amount of what made him a Gryffindor, Harry cleared his throat. Surprisingly enough, Snape didn't even lift his head.

"I wouldn't have survived five minutes in the war if I hadn't been able to sense when I was being watched. Of course I'm aware that you've been standing there, stupid boy." The long fingers slowly turned a page.

With the mindset of one approaching an injured, yet highly dangerous animal, Harry moved a bit closer. "Are you all right, sir?"

"Terrific." The sarcasm wasn't jovial anymore. It sliced like well-sharpened dagger.

"You seemed pretty upset when you walked in –" He cut himself short. _Obviously. _There was a pretty, fiery readhead in Potter's arms. Knowing what he knew about Snape, that was more than enough to crack at the man's infamous stoicism. "Shite, sir, we didn't mean… I know what it looked like to you, but I didn't set it up that way. You've got to know that."

Finally, the book came down. Harry instantly wished it would go back up, as the already dark eyes bore straight through his flesh. "Congratulations, Potter. After seven years of your excruciating company, your egoism still manages to astound me. Why in Merlin's name would I be upset with you? You think I became so disturbed because I thought a scrawny boy had somehow set me up? I dropped a potion in a rage that our fragile trust had been broken? Step away from your reflection for thirty seconds, and realize that I may have been distressed by something that has precious little to do with you."

He wished he was the sort of person to turn away, chin up, knowing he would come out all the better for not engaging in an argument. Unfortunately, that sort of man was leaps and bounds from Harry James Potter. "Is it so difficult for you to accept an apology? I know that _you_ know I didn't think any of that. I felt bad, Professor. Not for you, but because of what happened. _Sorry._" The word was now much more a shaking fist than an apology.

Snape donned a quite familiar smirk. "Forgive me, I was under the impression that Gryffindors such as yourself value honesty above all else."

Harry was suddenly quiet. "My dad isn't here. Neither is my mum. If we can't get past that, this isn't going to work."

"Nothing has to work, Potter. It merely needs to be tolerable."

"You call this tolerable?"

Snape tucked the book beneath his arm, and stood from the chair.

"Professor, I didn't mean to chase you out."

Harry wasn't spared a parting glance as the Potions Master disappeared up the dark staircase. In turn, he retreated to the kitchen, anxiously waiting for his friends to floo in.

* * *

As luck would have it, Harry barely had to wait twenty minutes before Ron fell out of the fireplace.

"Hey, mate." Ron took a seat across from Harry. "Hermione should be along any minute. She got caught talking to McGonagall, big surprise there."

Harry managed a laugh. "What were you up to, all morning?"

Ron shook his head. "Not too much. You heard Skeeter was showed up, right? Of course, that's why you couldn't show up."

Harry heard the faintest hint of malice, but decided to ignore it.

"So Hermione got pulled straight away, supposed to answer questions about her illicit love affair with the both of us, while we were camping."

Both wrinkled their noses in disgust.

"I know. Then I got pulled in, asked about my 'strong familial bonds' with Dumbledore. Did you know he had red hair, back when? That was the entire basis for her argument that he was my Great Uncle or something. The whole thing was just rubbish. We were supposed to be working on renovations, but the only area really secure from journalists is the hospital wing. Hermione and I ended up there, helping out Madame Pomfrey." He not-so-subtly looked away. "Haven't visited Lupin or Tonks yet, have you?"

Harry grimaced. "When have I had the time?"

"Dunno, what have you been doing all morning?" The malice returned.

"I'll get to them." Harry tried to speak with finality.

No use. "It could do them good to hear your voice, or something. It's the least you could do."

Harry took a deep breath, trying to calm. "Not really up to seeing them, just yet, okay?"

"At least you've still got them, Harry. It really is the least you could do." Ron's voice was raw with resentment.

That was it. "So first I wouldn't understand, because I haven't got a family, and now I have to worship whatever remains of anything that I've still got, and at your say so? Make up your mind, Ron."

The redhead's temper was unleashed. "You're a real prat to bring that up! Don't act like you forgave me if it isn't true."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Stop fishing for it, you know I forgave you! It's difficult to even think about going to Tonks and Remus, and I'm not ready yet. It really isn't any of your business to judge me on this one."

They were both standing when Hermione flooed in. She bit her lip at the obvious hostility, and looked just about two steps from hexing them into pieces. "Hi, Harry." She greeted, flatly.

"I think you should talk to Hermione. I'm heading back." Ron announced, slightly calmer.

Harry dug a palm into his temple. This was the second time in the same hour that he was driving someone out of a room. It didn't bode well for the day, at all.

Ron stepped in a bit. "Mate, I don't want to fight. I'll talk to you later, but I'm heading back now." He dropped a hand to Harry's shoulder, then coolly flooed out.

Hermione leaned up against a counter. "It's okay. He's been pretty awful, but at least he knows it. He's taken to walking out before it gets too bad."

"I didn't mean to chase him out." Harry said, morose.

"Are you listening?" She admonished. "You didn't chase him out, it's a sort of tactic he's developed. I think we need to give a little more time before we can see the old Ron, again."

Harry agreed, but it didn't do anything for his miserable mood. Hermione allowed him a moment before kindly kicking his shin. "So I spoke with Ginny."

He couldn't help but smile. "So what?"

"So I'd like to hear!" She enthused.

He shrugged, his mood repairing. "There isn't much to tell. We're just… you know. Seeing each other again."

"Spoken like a true romantic."

She badgered him for a longer story, he asked her for the update on Hogwarts. It seemed as though the process was going smoothly, though there was still plenty to be done. They were worried about being ready for September first.

She couldn't stay long, but asked him to floo directly into the hospital wing if he'd like to (please) stop by later. He gave her the same shaky response that he'd delivered to Ginny, earlier. Grimmauld Place was tense, but easier than the Burrow or Hogwarts would be right now. He wasn't going.

However, Harry did stop her before she moved to the fireplace. "I nearly forgot!"

"Hm?" She returned.

"I need to know about Auror's Ale. Do you have any idea what that is?"

Hermione maintained eye contact but looked very distant, her trademark face for searching her mind. "That sounds familiar, one of those things you know but can't quite put your finger – oh, wait! Auror's Ale, of course?" Her face contorted into confusion. "Why do you need to know about Auror's Ale?"

"It's a weird story." Harry admitted. "Do you mind telling me first?"

"Right," She began. In typical Hermione fashion, he got the extensive history, brewing process, and modern usage. Once she was finished explaining, it snapped into place.

More like slowly wiggled into place, actually. Could it be? That would explain – but still. Draco Malfoy and Auror's Ale?

**Sorry, I'm awful! Next chapter might be shorter in the interest of getting it out sooner. Your reviews are so appreciated, and thank you very much for sticking with the story!**


	8. Fathom

Harry thought of going directly to Malfoy. He could've climbed the stairs to the room where the twins once stayed, and banged on the door until the idiot answered him. It wouldn't take too long, he realized, because Malfoy was likely waiting for this confrontation. They could yell, accuse, and hash this out immediately – then Harry would never have to interact with the ferret again.

He didn't go, though. At least not that night. He spent the afternoon in his room, trying his hardest to be practical. What did one need to live on their own, that one did not need in a tent? He had his broom, wand, Hedwig, and clothes; no matter how the racked his brain, he couldn't think of anything else too urgent. He'd bring it up when he next spoke to Hermione, she'd probably have a five-step purchasing plan that's been waiting for him since third year.

He forced himself to the hospital wing around seven. He spent a good five minutes helping Hermione and Ron, before he had to abruptly leave. There was a curtain separating Remus and Tonks, the only two still comatose, from the rest of the wing. Said curtain shifted, affording Harry a view of two very still torsos. With Remus's hand lay draped over his middle, the pose looked grave-ready. Harry rushed out, pressing his stack of paper's into Hermione's hands with a hasty apology.

It was straight to bed after that, followed by a languid lie in. Harry certainly amassed more sleep that night than he did over the course of a week last year, but he rationalized it as evening himself out. There had to be some theory to it, didn't there? He needed more rest now to right himself after a very restless year. It would be beneficial to his _magical energy, _or _power core,_ or whatever that professional term that Hermione always tossed around was.

The grandfather clock downstairs chimed ten, so he pulled the quilt down and stretched out of bed. He took his time both in the shower and selecting his outfit. What else was there to do? It wouldn't be practical to help at Hogwarts until Skeeter was chased away. The hospital wing was secure, but after yesterday there was no way he'd be ready to test himself again. _Maybe not too Gryffindor_, he thought, but he just didn't have it in him to watch two of his favorite people waste away.

Of course! Why hadn't he thought of yet? There was someone very for Harry to visit: someone who wouldn't think to comment on war, Voldemort, or survivors. Truth be told, Teddy probably couldn't think of much but bright colors and funny noises, at this point. He hadn't even met his godson yet! This was going to be brilliant.

Quick out the door, down the stairs, and… prat.

The blonde looked up with sleepy eyes, seemingly unaware that they were a half second from colliding. Strange to see the boy transform into something so passive and fatigued.

"Potter." There wasn't much to the greeting. No hate, no prodding. It was as though Draco was reading the word off a piece of paper.

"Just on my way out, Malfoy." Harry explained, skirting around and finishing the staircase. He was truly prepared to go straight away (never mind he didn't know the floo password to Andromeda's house), but something stopped him. It was the unmistakable sensation of being watched.

Sure enough, Malfoy stood at the top of the stairs, patiently waiting for Harry to disappear from sight. The former startled when the latter made eye contact.

"What? You've stuck something embarrassing to the back of my shirt?"

Malfoy coughed, not amused. "Did you speak to Granger yet?"

Harry sighed. This was inevitable, and it wasn't as though he was working on a time schedule. "I have actually. You got a minute?"

Malfoy made his way down the stairs, stopping to lean on the railing near the bottom. "What did she tell you?"

Harry inclined his head, indicating that the Slytherin should follow. They made their way into the library, where Harry pulled an ancient Potions catalogue from an archive. "She speaks a mile a minute, so I only got the most basic gist. She also told me to dig though an article in here, but the only parts I could understand were things she'd already told me. Stop me if I've got anything wrong, all right?"

_"It was invented alongside the Auror Corps, ages ago. Things were a bit more… barbaric, back then. The statue was still relatively new, and it was difficult reigning witches and wizards in without resorting to violence. Plus, you know, this was at the height of tensions between Middle Eastern and South Asian magical communities, thanks to interference by Benedict the Bold –"_

_ No, Harry's face said, he had no idea what she was talking about._

_ Hermione rolled her eyes. "Right. Well, in summary, it was difficult. The new division was facing recruitment issues on top of everything else, so they couldn't be too picky with the applications. Elizabeth Rowle, a premier Potions Mistress, had the brilliant idea for Auror's Ale. It's sort of like – well, some call it "liquid imperius." It isn't nearly as strong as the curse; it would have have been legal, even then, if a wizard or witch of average ability couldn't break from its influence. It helped Aurors follow orders by greatly diluting their moral opposition and sense of self-preservation. For example, it would be mad to run straight into a forest on fire, wouldn't it? Perhaps there was a disarmed wizard stuck in the middle, who needed rescuing. These poorly trained Aurors wouldn't be up for such a task, without the aid of Auror's Ale. Unless the Auror in question had a specific phobia of fire, was disarmed himself, or something else of the sort which would make the task an actual suicide mission, he would comply with orders."_

_ Harry's stomach was turning something awful. It was just… cowardly couldn't begin to cover it, if Malfoy was implying what Harry thought he was implying._

_ "Today it's highly restricted, of course." Hermione interrupted his train of thought by continuing. The Corps has their pick now, so the need for such a potion is all but gone. Further, its been contested as unethical by some group or another every decade for the past hundred years. Not that I don't agree. It's highly unethical, considering the point of crisis one must reach before breaking its influence. Not as bad as an unforgivable, but close. The Ministry authorizes its use on a case-by-case basis. Since its repeal from the Corps, the Ministry has sanctioned no appeal for its use. Auror's Ale is reportedly complicated to brew, the instructions are unpublished, and the effects are evident on users – its highly addictive – so there isn't a huge concern that its being sold on the black market."_

_ He had to let out a small laugh. "You keep these things on file in your head, just in case one of us happens to ask about a certain potion or charm one of these days?"_

_ She laughed, as well. "That's barely an introduction! In fact, if we could just pop into the library, I think I remember it has a fantastic article on original usage –"_

There was a long, long moment. Malfoy shook his head. "As per usual, Granger hasn't gotten anything wrong."

"That was never a question." Harry answered, equally careful. "I just might've mixed it up in retelling."

Another pause. The elephant was crashing and crushing his way around the room. Finally, Harry saw fit to name him.

"I'll take it the instructions weren't as difficult to come by as she thought?"

Malfoy shrugged. "My father has always had his ways. I asked, he delivered."

Harry wanted to turn away, leave the boy in the library or perhaps chuck him out of the house. This was ridiculous. He didn't, though. He was compelled to get answers, take advantage of Malfoy's apparent openness before making his opinion known. "So it was your decision, then?"

Malfoy nodded. "My decision, but Severus suggested it. I'm sure he would've tried to help me out, but I was already marked. I was a Death Eater, Potter, but a rather half arsed one. I still believe that there's value in blood purity, but –" He stopped to make eye contact, for the first time. "But I never wanted to kill anyone. I couldn't kill."

"What about your parents?"

Malfoy looked away, again. "My father's dead, and I'm not sure when I'm even able to speak to my mum again."

Harry had no idea what to say to that. How did one apologize for something they didn't feel all too sorry about?

Turned out he didn't need to say anything, as Malfoy continued. "What do you think, then? True?"

He bit his lower lip to try and keep from scoffing. "Truce? Seriously, Malfoy? I think you're a bloody coward who wanted an easy way out, no matter who won the war."

"Excuse me then," Malfoy began sarcastically, his patience thoroughly tried, "for not being the savior of our people who can literally do no wrong."

"I'm not asking you to be perfect, of even okay. If you had any sort of redeeming factor, I'd be happy to extend the same offer as I did to Professor Snape." Harry cut.

"I didn't kill, and didn't want to kill – how's that for redeeming?"

"You chickened out."

"You're a piece of shit, Potter."

"Go sleep off your addiction, Malfoy."

The blonde didn't have to be told twice. He swept out of the room, pushing two or three books off of tables on his way out, just for effect. Harry didn't let himself be bothered by it. This was Malfoy, after all: the git who hated him and his best friends, bowed before the man who wanted Harry dead for seventeen years, and made a valiant effort at wrecking the only home Harry ever had. Some things were beyond forgiveness.

* * *

"I've got to talk to you about something." Ron was pacing his room, the annoying habit apparently sticking. Harry was sitting on his bed, worried for what his friend would say. The boy seemed anxious, and more than a little angry.

"Is it really… Why did you… No, why didn't you…" Ron pulled at the hair near the back of his head, a fistful of confused red. "I know I don't have anything to be worried about, I'm not an idiot, but why are you and Hermione spending so much time together?"

Harry realized he should have known this would be the problem. His best friend had gotten much better with the jealousy since his return to the camp, but the green-eyed monster still managed to creep his way in, every so often. At least they could be honest and up front about it, now. "We aren't, not really. She only stayed for a little while after you left, yesterday."

"No!" Ron yelled, but then managed to regain control. "No, it was over an hour."

"She was helping me with Malfoy. What else is new?" He tried to play it off lightly.

Ron wasn't biting. "You're still hung up on him, then? Well you invited the prat to stay in your house. You don't need Hermione holding your hand and helping you through your own boneheaded move."

Harry's patience for this was falling apart fast. What was with Ron's temper, anyway? It had always been bad – last year was certainly worse than ever – but this was nearly nonstop and _awful_. "She was just being a friend."

Naturally, the redhead took offense. "What do you mean by that?"

"I mean nothing by it, except that she was explaining a stupid potion, same as she did for the both of us five days a week, for six years. And you could've stayed, you know. You were the one who chose to go home."

"Are you talking-" Ron began to yell.

"I'm talking about yesterday, and nothing else. Merlin, what has gotten into you?" Harry stood, collecting his things.

"You're leaving already?" The boy sounded legitimately hurt, instantly making Harry regret his move. He sat back down.

"No of course not. Can we just calm down?" Harry offered the olive branch.

"Right." Ron took a breath and sat, exhausted, on his floor. "Right."

"You don't need to get so worked up over everything."

"I know." The redhead took a much bigger breath, then two more. "I just go off the wall, a couple times a day. Mum says it's how I'm handling my 'grief', but I don't know. It seems pretty weird. It isn't happening for any of my brothers, or Gin."

Harry shrugged. "People deal with stuff different ways, I guess? You're not dealing with the King of Control over here. I smashed Dumbledore's office around after Sirius."

"But you went back to normal!" Ron exclaimed. "You had a shit day or two, then a lousy few months, but the worst of it was over. It isn't like things are normal around here, but everyone else is… you know? Mum isn't crying all the time, just most of it. George is still shut up in his room, but he'll talk if someone tries to get in. I'm exactly the same as I was in the hours right after the battle."

"They didn't spend the year running around like a fugitive." Harry pointed out.

Ron shrugged it off. "There's this thing in my head. It feels like a- like a lever that just gets pulled and all hell breaks loose."

"It'll get better mate."

"It has to, right?" Ron sounded slightly scared.

Harry promised, "It'll get better."

They left it at that, the conversation turning to a much easier route as Harry got to complain about living with Snape and Malfoy. This was well tread territory, and before long the story of Auror's Ale spilled out.

"What a little shite!" Ron laughed out. "He's too pansy to do anything on his own, so that means you should just hug and kiss, make up for all the times he tried to kill you?"

"That's what I said!" Harry agreed. "He hasn't changed, not at all."

"Well it's got to be even worse with the dungeon bat there, too." Ron moaned in sympathy.

"It isn't as bad as you'd think. He's mellowed out almost, its weird." Harry shivered.

Ron rolled his eyes. "One a slimy Slytherin, always a slimy, smelling, stinking Slytherin in my book. He maybe helped Dumbledore, but he's still a total arse, through and through."

"Did Ginny mention how he freaked out on us? He let a potion go, and I've never seen him drop – or even fumble – anything, before!" Harry lowered his voice, as though the Potions Master might be making rounds of the halls of the Burrow.

"Nah, she's not talking to me." Ron pursed his lips. "Its my temper. I was kind of harsh on her the other day, and she said there's a difference between mourning and being a total prat. I tried to explain the lever thing, but she really doesn't want to hear it." He looked up, an idea taking shape. "Would you maybe talk to her about it? You get it, right?"

Harry bit at his lip. He wanted to help his friend, he really did, but things were just as shaky between him and Ginny. They hadn't been back together for three days yet, and hadn't even seen each other since their quick conversation in the kitchen. More so, intervening between Weasleys never proved to be anything but trouble.

"I'll try, but no promises. You know what you're sister can be like, when she's in a mood about something."

Wrong route, apparently. Harry thought he was making a harmless joke, but something in his friend's eyes darkened. Not again.

"And what does that mean?"

"It means nothing." Harry tried to diffuse. "It was a joke, Ron."

"Wouldn't hurt for you to show her a bit of respect by not joking behind her back." He spat.

"You've got to be kidding!" Harry insisted.

Ron's fingers drew into tight fists. "I think that shite you live with is rubbing off on you."

"This is getting ridiculous." Harry stood up, this time with real finality. "You're getting ridiculous. Feel better, mate."

Ron was apparently just as finished as he. "Shut the door on your way out."

When Harry let the door swing shut behind him, he felt as though he was cutting off much more than a bright orange room.

**Thank you for reading! I'm awful, I'm the worst, there is literally no reason for this chapter to be so late out. I'm just transferring schools right now, so between work, applications, and auditions/interviews, things have been a little bit of a total mess. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed, especially the long awaited explanation of Auror's Ale! Review, please, my beautiful readers!**


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